


Dr. Santiago, Medicine Woman

by MediumSizedEvil



Series: Really Ridiculous AU's [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, The Wild Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: Nobody in Brooklyn Springs is ready for a female doctor, least of all Sheriff Jake Peralta.What's Jane Seymour up to now, anyway?
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Series: Really Ridiculous AU's [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437790
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Amy Santiago alighted from the stagecoach and peered around the dusty Main Street. Brooklyn Springs looked like every other small town in the wild wild west, with a general store, a saloon, a brothel, and a synagogue.

“Excuse me,” she asked a random passer by, “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly, Ma'm,” the man said, taking off his hat. “Postmaster Charles Boyle, at your service.”

“Mr. Boyle, can you please tell me where the doctor's surgery is?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, we haven't had a physician here since Dr. Schwartz died. But we're expecting Dr. Santiago to arrive any day now.” He looked her up and down. “Is it very urgent?” he asked worriedly.

“No, I am Dr. Santiago.”

“But, but, you're a woman!” he exclaimed.

She frowned. “Yes, I'm Dr. Amy Santiago. I sent a telegram.”

“And I received it,” he replied, “But we were expecting a Dr. A. M. Y. Santiago! You know, a man, with a normal name like Adam. Or Aaron, or Asher or Amos.”

“Well I am Dr. Santiago and I'd like to know where my surgery is.”

He nodded slowly. “Over there, first on the right,” he indicated a side street. “But you'll need to get the key from Holt's General Store first.”

Amy thanked him and entered the store advertised by that name.

“Good afternoon, Ma'm,” the proprietor, Mr. Holt she presumed, said politely but sternly. “How may I help you? Would you like some dynamite? Or gefilte fish?”

“No, I'd like the keys to the surgery, please. Mr. Boyle said you kept them here.”

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Santiago, the new doctor's wife!”

“No, I am Dr. Santiago.”

He took a large key from a drawer and shook his head. “Well, I wish you the best of luck, but I warn you, folks are very...orthodox around here.”

Key in hand, Amy decided she was in need of a drink first so she entered the saloon next door. It was dark and smoky, and she unconsciously held her breath. At a rickety table four men were cheating at cards, and in the corner sat a blind piano player. All eyes, except his, were on her as she slowly made her way to the bar.

“Who are you?” the dark-haired woman behind the till asked menacingly.

“I'm Amy Santiago, the new doctor.”

“That's no job for a woman,” she scoffed. “Doctors are wimps.” She leaned over the bar. “I like to cut too,” she said, planting a dagger in the wood and twisting it slowly. “But I don't stitch.” She spat on the floor contemptuously. “So what are you having? I don't serve hot milk.”

Amy cleared her throat. “I'd like your stiffest drink, please.”

She put four jello shots on the bar, and knocked down three. “To life!” Amy followed her example, and she nodded approvingly. “I'm Rosa Diaz, and this is my joint.”

Then the saloon doors opened with a creaking sound – they needed some oil - and in the opening stood a man with a gun belt, a hat, a straw in his mouth, and a shiny silver badge on his chest. He slowly walked up to the bar, his spurs rattling on the wooden floor.

“Jake Peralta,” he introduced himself without prompting. “I've just come to say that as the Sheriff of this town I find it unacceptable that you're a woman.”

“Unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that,” Amy explained. “Medical science has not advanced that far, even if I had the inclination. I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to me in my female form.”

He frowned. “But how are the men of this town supposed to discuss their...issues with a female doctor?”

“The same way women are expected to discuss their issues with male doctors?”

“But that's different! They're professionals.”

“Are you saying I'm not a professional? I assure you, I have all the right qualifications and then some.”

“No, I mean, it's not...It's just that you're young and...attractive...”

“Thank you, I suppose, although I don't see what that has to do with anything. Or do you expect me to put a bag over my head, with eye holes in it?”

“No! No!” he exclaimed. “That would give off the wrong impression.”

Amy sighed. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and set up my surgery. Unless you have some...pressing issues you'd like to discuss with a medical professional?”

“No! I don't have any issues. Absolutely not. Okay, bye.” He stormed out, leaving the saloon doors creaking on their hinges.


	2. Chapter 2

Amy put the key to the surgery in the lock and tried to turn it, but it would not move. She put a little more effort into it, and all of a sudden the key broke off inside the lock. She stamped her foot on the ground in frustration but managed to restrain herself from using vulgar language. Then she remembered seeing a blacksmith's shop advertised in the Main Street, so she put the remains of the key in her pocket with a sigh and made her way towards the smithy. However, as she turned the corner a most unusual sight greeted her.

Two little girls were rolling around on the dusty ground, punching and scratching each other while yelling obscenities. Amy wondered if this really was a lawless place when Sheriff Peralta rode up on his white horse. “Laura, Nellie, cut it out!”

They looked up at him in surprise.

“She started it!” the blond one said accusingly.

“Did not!” the other replied.

“Nellie, everyone knows you're a little shit,” Sheriff Peralta said. “Now go home, or I'm telling your Ma.”

The blond girl pouted and stomped off.

“That's Cornelia,” he told Amy. “One of the Oleson twins. She's the evil one.”

Amy nodded. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked the dark-haired girl. She had a bloody nose and several scratches, and was busy wiping the blood off her face with her dirty pinafore.

“Yes, I'm fine! I don't need any help.” She glared up at the Sheriff. “I was winning!” She spat out a tooth and angrily stormed off.

He shook his head. “It's a tough job, keeping the law in this town.”

They were a hardy lot for sure, she had to agree.

The Sheriff suddenly lifted his hat. “Good day, Miss Jennifer,” he said courteously to a passing lady, who ignored him after a quick glance and continued chatting with her friend while twirling her parasol. The Sheriff watched her bustled and blue bebowed butt disappear around the corner with a sigh. “Well I'd better go to the matchmaker then,” he told Amy while turning his horse around. “I'm all out of matches, can you believe that?”

Somehow she could. It was a common enough occurrence, with there being so many lamps to light, fires to ignite, and candles to kindle.

As she approached TERENCE JEFFORDS' SMITHY she overheard its proprietor talking to another customer inside. “You want _another_ axe? What size? _That_ big?”

She opened the door and was greeted by a friendly salutation from the blacksmith and an almighty sneeze from Miss Diaz, for it was she who had come to order a new tool from the muscular craftsman.

“Miss Diaz, you look a bit under the weather,” he said worriedly.

“M'fine,” she sniffled. “Allergies. M'allergic to...” She looked around the smithy. “Fire.”

“At least let me get you some matzo ball soup,” he offered. “Sharon just made some, it's very soothing. You know what, I'm gonna go to the kitchen anyway. Terry loves kreplach.”

He left Amy and Miss Diaz alone to an awkward silence. She knew better than to offer unsolicited medical advice, and she had no better remedy for the common cold than homemade chicken soup anyway. 

“So how about that local sports team?” she asked just as the door opened and Sheriff Peralta walked in. “Oh, is it Ladies' Day at the smithy?” he jested.

Miss Diaz glared at him. “Every day is Ladies' Day at the smachoo!”

“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

“M'fine.”

Just then Mr. Jeffords returned with three bowls of steaming hot soup. Upon seeing Sheriff Peralta he clapped him on the back and immediately pressed him to take the third bowl.

“So you wanted to see me, Jeffords?” the loquacious lawman asked while slurping Sharon's soothing soup.

“Yes, about a horse theft!” the blacksmith explained. “Just yesterday I was shoeing a horse, I turned my back for a few seconds, and all of a sudden the horse was gone!”

“So whose horse were you shoeing?” the Sheriff inquired astutely.

“My own,” he replied with a sigh. “My brother Zeke just got a pet badger for his son Reke so I'd gone to the auction to buy a nice little pony for the girls, but then I saw this horse, it was such a _sad_ horse, it just needed some _love_ , and nobody _wanted_ it, and-”

“Alright, alright, so you bought a horse. Was it a palomino by any chance?”

“Why, yes it was,” he said with a surprised look.

The Sheriff banged his fist on the anvil and swore loudly - because it hurt like hell. “I bet it was that wretched horse thief again, my arch nemesis, the Palomino Bandit!”


	3. Chapter 3

Amy and Mr. Jeffords were walking on Main Street towards the surgery in order to replace the lock. As they passed Mr. Holt's store Miss Jennifer just happened to cross the street at a brisk pace. She looked over at them and suddenly fainted dead in her tracks. Mr. Jeffords only managed to catch her just in time before she hit the ground.

Amy quickly ran inside the store for some smelling salts to revive her, but when she got back Miss Jennifer was already smiling weakly but consciously at the able-bodied blacksmith.

She knelt by her side side to check her pulse just in case. “Pardon me, Miss, but perhaps your corset is a little too tight?” she suggested.

“No, it's not. That's the fashion. I'm fine!” she insisted. She quickly got up, straightened her dress and marched off.

Mr. Jeffords shook his head. “She just does it for the attention.”

“Dr. Santiago, come quickly!” 

She turned around. It was Laura, that tough little lass. Then it must be serious. She quickly followed her to the one-room schoolhouse where Mrs. Meyer, the old-fashioned schoolmarm who taught the three R's, reading, writing and racquetball, lay violently twitching in a pool of blood. 

“I'm fine!” the old lady gurgled while crimson poured from her mouth.

Amy tried to put pressure on the gaping chest wound with her bare hands, but the cut was too deep and wide.

“If you were a man, your hands would be bigger,” Laura helpfully remarked. Then she took off her dirty pinafore to offer as a bandage.

The gray-haired teacher lifted her hands. “Leave me alone!”

“Mrs. Meyer, you're bleeding to death.”

“I'm fine! I don't need a doctor. And certainly not a female doctor. What do women know about medicine? There is obviously nothing wrong with me. I'm fine!” Then she died.

Amy sighed. “Laura, can you please find Sheriff Peralta? I think this death is a little suspicious, what with there being a giant bloody pickaxe over here on the floor.”

“You think rightly,” Sheriff Peralta replied. He had ridden his white horse straight into the one-room schoolhouse by ducking really low in the door frame.

She nodded. “But who could have done such a thing?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Meyer ruled with an iron fist. Everybody hated her. This whole town is a suspect.” 

Laura spat on the ground. “She was a vindictive, spiteful old hag. Oh, and it wasn't me.”

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow.

“I swear it wasn't me! Mrs. Meyer made me paint the outhouse in detention because I said Nellie Oleson looks like a buttface, and when I came back in I found her like this.”

“I shall get to the bottom of this,” the Sheriff promised.

“You said bottom,” Laura giggled.

The next day Amy accosted the friendly Postmaster in the street. “Mr. Boyle, I was wondering if you could give me some advice?”

“Of course!” he replied. “Don't use up all your seed potatoes to make latkes.”

Just then Sheriff Peralta rode up on his white horse. “Howdy Charles! Any news?” he inquired while dismounting.

The Postmaster looked pensive for a moment. “No, not really, except my cousin Sam fell off his roof yesterday. He's such a klutz!”

The Sheriff shook his head. “What was he doing on the roof, that mad lad?”

“Playing the violin.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Is he alright?” Amy asked worriedly. “Does he need any medical attention?”

“No, he's fine,” Mr. Boyle assured her. “It'll grow back.” He shook his head. “But his pride won't. He shamed himself in front of the gentlefolk.”

“So no other news?” Sheriff Peralta asked.

“Oh, let me think...Yes, just some gossip: Miss Jennifer ran off with a fellow named Fung who works on the railroad.”

Sheriff Peralta's face turned ashen. “Why, then, O brawling love!” quoth he in desperation. “O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create!” He dashed his head against a tree, howling in pain – because it hurt like hell. “Jenny!” he cried out. “You pierce my soul!”

Amy shook her head. It appeared the Sheriff was literarily heartbroken. “Should I...?” she asked Mr. Boyle.

“No, leave him. He's fine.”

She took his friend's word for it and left the Sheriff to his wooing woes.


	4. Chapter 4

“I can't believe it was Miss Jennifer!” Sheriff Peralta wailed as he tied up his white horse in front of the General Store where everyone was gathered. “That pure, innocent soul!”

“And yet all the evidence points in that direction,” Mr. Holt interjected. “We have four witnesses who saw her leave the one-room schoolhouse in a hurry.”

Mr. Jeffords sighed. “And I know it was her favorite pickaxe.”

“And I heard Mrs. Meyer call her a flibbertigibbet in the middle of the street,” Mr. Boyle added. “Trust me, she didn't run off with that fellow Fung for nothing.”

“So she doesn't love him!”

His friend sighed deeply. “Just eh, try to forget about her. Feast your eyes upon some other nice broads. You know what, the Capulets are throwing a party tonight. And Miss Isabella Linton is looking hella fresh. Or what about one of the Musgrove sisters? Or both?”

“I don't think this is very helpful, Mr. Boyle,” Amy said medically. “Just leave him be.”

Just then a fast palomino horse came charging up the Main Street. Sheriff Peralta grabbed his lasso and threw it at the rider. He hauled him out of the saddle and onto the dusty ground, while the horse bolted and disappeared around the corner.

Amy quickly ran up to him. “I'm fine!” he moaned. It was none other than the blind piano player from the saloon briefly mentioned in chapter one.

“Doug Judy!” the Sheriff exclaimed. “I have caught you red-handed. So you are the Palomino Bandit!”

“Man, I just-”

“You stole Mr. Jeffords' sad horse, admit it! And also you're not blind! You've deceived everyone!” The hurt at this betrayal – only the second one today - was apparent in his eyes. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Come on man, who would hire a piano player that isn't blind?” Mr. Judy argued.

“True,” Miss Diaz agreed.

“But I didn't steal the blacksmith's horse. I could have taken it at the auction if I wanted to, but it was such a _sad_ horse, it nearly made me cry. Sorry, I'm a real sensitive guy.”

Mr. Jeffords nodded. “He's right, it was such a _sad_ horse. And the one he was riding just now was a very merry mare! Also, I know that at the time of the theft Mr. Judy was playing at Joshy Greenbaum's bar mitzvah.”

Sheriff Peralta raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I didn't know you did bar mitzvahs?”

“Yeah man, I play that old time ragtime boogie woogie honky tonk piano like it's nobody's business! And when I sing Oh! Shoshanna, everybody starts schmoozing.” He shook his head. “Man, that was a wild party. Auntie Karen is a freak.”

“Hey, that's my mom!”

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Not sorry.”

“Then who stole that _sad_ horse?” Sheriff Peralta wondered.

Meanwhile Mr. Judy was winking furiously at Miss Diaz. “Rosa, Rosa, do you wanna get cozy with me under the canopy?”

“No.”

“I respect that.”

Amy shook her head. “Yes, what could anyone possibly want with such a _sad_ horse?”

Meanwhile Laura was punching Nellie in the face for being a little shit again. “You take that back, or I'm telling your Ma that Reke let you pet his badger!”

“Aha!” Sheriff Peralta exclaimed. “There is one thing you can always do with a horse, _sad_ or not.”

“Oh please no!” Mr. Jeffords cried.

“Comparing the auction report to this carcass I can conclusively say that this is, or was, the same palomino horse,” Amy stated.

Sheriff Peralta nodded and handcuffed Mr. Zeke Jeffords. “And I am confiscating that voracious badger too!”

“It was such a _sad_ horse,” the blacksmith cried. He was a real sensitive guy.

“I also found out why the horse was so _sad_ ,” Amy added.

“Really?” he asked.

She nodded. “He had a stomach ulcer. That tends to cause sadness in horses.”

“Without your expert forensic evidence I could never have solved this case, Dr. Santiago.”

“Good. Now I hope you've changed your mind about female doctors.”

“Certainly. I think everyone in this town has, to be honest. As a matter of fact, there is some...pressing issue I would like to discuss with you.”

“Is there? Well, how can I help you?”

“You see Doctor, I've been having these strange sensations lately that I've never felt before.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He nodded. “Yes, and oddly enough it only happens, well...when you are in the vicinity.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you could show me where you've been having these strange _sensations_ , and then I'll...examine you.”

“If you would be so kind, Doctor...”


End file.
